Close to Arena, and is call’d bright Minyæus’ stream. There made we halt, and there the sun cast many a glorious beam On our bright armours, horse and foot insea’d together there. Then march’d we on. By fi’ry noon we saw the sacred clear Of great Alpheus, where to Jove we did fair sacrifice; And to the azure God, that rules the under-liquid skies, We offer’d up a solemn bull; a bull t’ Alpheus’ name; And to the blue-ey’d Maid we burn’d a heifer never tame. Now was it night; we supp’d and slept, about the flood, in arms. The foe laid hard siege to our town, and shook it with alarms, But, for prevention of their spleens, a mighty work of war Appear’d behind them; for as soon as Phœbus’ fi’ry car Cast night’s foul darkness from his wheels (invoking rev’rend Jove, And the unconquer’d Maid his birth) we did th’ event approve, And gave them battle. First of all, I slew (the army saw) The mighty soldier Mulius, Augeas’ son-in-law, And spoil’d him of his one hoof’d horse; his eldest daughter was Bright Agamede, that for skill in simples did surpass, And knew as many kind of drugs, as earth’s broad centre bred. Him charg’d I with my brass-arm’d lance, the dust receiv’d him dead. I, leaping to his chariot, amongst the foremost press’d, And the great-hearted Elians fled frighted, seeing their best And loftiest soldier taken down, the gen’ral of their horse. I follow’d like a black whirlwind, and did for prise enforce Full fifty chariots, ev’ry one furnish’d with two arm’d men, Who ate the earth, slain with my lance. And I had slaughter’d then The two young boys, Moliones, if their world-circling sire, Great Neptune, had not saft their lives, and cover’d their retire With unpierc’d clouds. Then Jove bestow’d a haughty victory Upon us Pylians; for so long we did the chace apply, Slaught’ring and making spoil of arms, till sweet Buprasius’ soil, Alesius, and Olenia, were fam’d with our recoil; For there Minerva turn’d our pow’r, and there the last I slew As, when our battle join’d, the first. The Pylians then withdrew To Pylas from Buprasius. Of all th’ Immortals then, They most thank’d Jove for victory; Nestor the most of men. Such was I ever, if I were employ’d with other peers, And I had honour of my youth, which dies not in my years. And great Achilles only joys hability of act In his brave prime, and doth not deign t’ impart it where ’tis lack’d. No doubt he will extremely mourn, long after that black hour Wherein our ruin shall be brought, and rue his ruthless pow’r, O friend! my memory revives the charge Menœtius gave Thy towardness, when thou sett’st forth, to keep out of the grave Our wounded honour. I myself and wise Ulysses were Within the room, where ev’ry word then spoken we did hear, For we were come to Peleus’ court, as we did must’ring pass Through rich Achaia, where thy sire, Menœtius, was, Thyself and great Æacides, when Peleüs the king To thunder-loving Jove did burn an ox for offering, In his court-yard.